


Alstaer Gaemon Childhood Excerpts

by Yuuchansan



Series: Aprea [3]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Fantasy, Original Character(s), Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2019-10-25 17:16:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17729420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuuchansan/pseuds/Yuuchansan
Summary: Excerpts from the childhood of Alstaer Gaemon, prince of the ice desert.





	1. Chapter 1

“Come now, it’s important to work in a group environment. The other children are only here for another week, make the most of their company.” 

The tutor who was accompanying the Gameon prince down the central stairs of the palace already knew that things were not going to end well. Though he had cared for Alstaer for two years, not once had he seen the small boy properly interact, let alone talk with another child. Even now, Alstaer hung back a couple of stairs, stuck against the balusters as if wishing to be absorbed into them. 

It took ten minutes to coax him down, and another five to bring him to the main courtyard of the palace. Across the way, six other children waited, all of them pale and wrapped up in furs to protect against the gathering afternoon chill. As they saw Alstaer, some of them clambered through the snow to get a better look: the prince had not been seen in public since he was a toddler, after all. 

“No need for formal introductions, your highness, these are a selection of children from the passing tribe to the east of the Royal State, all with arcane promise we thought would befit your company,” the tutor smiled as he placed his hand on Alstaer’s shoulder to usher him forward.

The children whispered amongst themselves, some curious, some obviously unimpressed: the prince was a frail child, hardly imposing any royal presence. 

“Nice…to meet you,” Alstaer finally spoke up, his eyes narrowed as if he’d never spoken the words before and therefore found them foreign and distasteful. 

The tutor breathed a sigh of relief at Alstaer’s attempt at politeness before he swept forwards to gather the children, several attendants on watch around the perimetre of the courtyard. Alstaer moved slowly through the snow and sat in the forming circle, though his eyes barely seemed to register those around him. The children, although the same age as the boy, were far better built from their years of nomadism, their features slightly rugged, with rouged colour in their cheeks from the harsh winds of the Mesaje. 

Alstaer on the other hand, looked as though he could shatter at any moment. In fact, he seemed very much a part of the ice palace he had emerged from: delicately made and all white and silver, from his hair, to his skin, to his clothes. The only detail that broke that appearance were his eyes, which were a deep red and belied his family name. 

Around him, the children were already following the tutor, making the snow about them spiral up into tiny turrets and form vague shapes in the air. Alstaer watched as he tucked his knees up to his chest, leaning forwards to rest his chin atop them. He was content to watch, and perfectly ignored the urging glances of the tutor who stood in the centre of the little circle. After all, he suspected why this was being done, why he was here. The tutor never took him outside for such a show, unless there was a good reason. 

Sure enough, the doors opened again behind them and a man walked out, his long silver cloak brushing the steps as he descended to the snow. The children paused in their magic for a moment, the little snow drifts they’d been creating left to crumble to powder.

Rolmy Gameon wasn’t a physically imposing man, but Alstaer could feel his presence without having to look around. The King of the Mesaje was, like his son, slender and with fine features, but he wore an expression of stern strength that set them starkly apart. Just behind him, a woman appeared, her face far more open than her husband as her eyes searched the courtyard to find her son. Slightly taller than Rolmy, Sharpistal came to stand beside him, and Alstaer turned back to meet her gaze. She smiled as he did so, and the prince clutched his knees a little tighter, unsure of how to respond. He had not seen his parents in over five months, and though he had known they would return it was still unsettling to be put on the spot in front of them.

“Your highness, would you participate? Show their majesties what you have learnt,” the tutor encouraged, his jaw rather set as he extended an arm to prompt the prince. 

I’ve learnt nothing from you, Alstaer thought as he looked back at the man, though getting to his feet and holding out his hand. 

From the centre of his palm, an icicle grew and extended, forming a blade between the boy’s fingers. It spiralled up in intricate patterns, fusing like flakes of snow until it looked like a single shard of blue-white glass, catching the light of the weak sun. Behind the group, Sharpistal moved around the circle to get a better look, pushing up onto her toes in the snow to see. Alstaer noticed her, their eyes meeting for a moment before he turned sharply and threw the ice knife at his father’s feet, the weapon shattering and sending out fragments in all directions. 

Rolmy did not even flinch. Around Alstaer, the children gasped and scrambled back, his tutor ashen as he took a knee in silent apology. The king said nothing though as he merely picked a tiny sliver of ice from his hand and flicked it away, a small bloom of blood rising from the wound. 

“Alstaer!” Sharpistal vehemently reprimanded her son’s behaviour, striding through the snow to take his hand and pull him away from the group, “We’re having a talk, right now! Come with me.” 

As she led him into the palace then, Alstaer turned to look at his father. Rolmy was smoothing his thumb over the cut on his hand, regarding it in silence as if observing something rather disinteresting. As he did so, the blood peeled back into the wound, the pale skin knitting over and healing itself as if never marred.


	2. Chapter 2

“I want to build a snowman. With you. Get up.”

Lukas stood over Alstaer in the garden, arms crossed resolutely. At his feet, Alstaer was holding a glass pot and a sapling, calmly setting the plant down and brushing the few stray specks of dirt from his trousers.

“No. I’m busy,” Alstaer finally deigned to reply, voice quiet and without inflection.

It was the fourth time that week that Lukas had sought out his younger cousin, attempting to pull him from his sky garden and down to the world below. From the garden’s balcony, Lukas could see other noble children gathered in the courtyard, tiny specks playing in the snow. Just outside the palace grounds, but close enough that his uncle would not protest to Alstaer joining them, surely.

“You’re not busy, c’moooon,” Lukas groaned, ducking down and looping his arms under Alstaer’s to start dragging the prince to the door, “Don’t dig your feet in!”

“Get off,” Alstaer tried to order, but his voice was so tiny it came out more like a cry as he panicked and tried to wriggle free.

“I will literally carry you all the way down.”

“I’ll call the palace guards.”

“You can’t call them on me, the king’s my uncle.”  


“The king’s my father, I win.”

Alstaer had tilted his head back and was looking furiously up at Lukas, brow furrowed and mouth scrunched up. Lukas thought he looked like a baby bird held within a human hand, unable to break free but voicing all the protest and disdain its small body could muster. Lukas was only a year older than Alstaer, but he hadn’t been lying when he’d said he could carry the boy downstairs. At eight years old, Alstaer was a head shorter than him, and about half as wide. Breakable as the stem of the flower he’d just re-potted.  


“When are you gonna grow?” Lukas blurted out then, half-joking, half totally serious.

It was only a second later that he realised he’d grated raw nerve, Alstaer’s eyes widening before he began to thrash, shoving Lukas away so they both toppled to the ground.

“Don’t touch me, don’t speak to me!” Alstaer snapped, holding his arm where he’d fallen, “Leave me alone!”

Lukas felt a rush of anger at his cousin’s petulance, biting the inside of his cheek and rubbing his nose. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything. But Alstaer, he was difficult. All Lukas ever tried to do was foster some kind of connection between them, even if it was just playing out in the snow like those other kids. Why did Alstaer keep pushing him away? Was it because he didn’t like him? Did Alstaer hate him?

A coil of hurt formed in Lukas’ stomach and he looked at the ground, heart thumping in his ears.

And then;

“This is why you don’t have any friends.”

It was as if someone else had spoken the words, but Lukas’ tongue felt heavy after them. His lips were still parted as he raised his eyes to meet Alstaer’s, the prince crumpled back by the now scattered sapling. He didn’t look angry anymore. Rather, he looked like he wasn’t there at all. His eyes had dulled, face emptied, and his gaze was no longer focused on Lukas, rather on some point far beyond him.

“Please leave.”

The voice too, sounded distant. Lukas’ anger turned to distress as he didn’t know how to fix what he’d just broken. The way Alstaer looked and sounded now, it was the same as he was with his father. Lukas had never wanted that.

“Alstaer, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t…I didn’t mean that,” he tried, slowly rocking forwards and crawling towards the other, stopping just a metre in front of him, “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, y’know, I just wanted you to come play. Go outside, with me.”

Alstaer didn’t respond, looking at Lukas with all the emotion of a doll. Those glassy eyes scared Lukas, who teetered back and forth before hesitantly placing a hand on Alstaer’s shoulder. He was cold to touch.

“I’m really sorry,” he whispered as he squeezed the boy’s shoulder, provoking no reaction.

It was as if Alstaer simply wasn’t there anymore.

Lukas shifted forwards again, wrapping an arm around Alstaer’s shoulder and giving him a hug. He’d always found an embrace was the best comfort to others, from his parents to his friends, all of whom were quick to return the gesture. And forgive whatever thoughtless comment Lukas had come out with, knowing he hadn’t meant it.

Alstaer didn’t hug him back.


	3. Alstaer Confronts Rolmy

“Please, sir, consider moving your son’s migration forwards. We have the capabilities to transport him safely, even without a Royal Escort.”

“And why would I concede?”

The voices echoed in the chamber, despite the obvious hushed tones. Alstaer’s father was discussing with a general, a silent clamour of nobleman flanking. 

As they spoke, the young boy shifted behind the plinth, keeping out of sight of his father. At his feet, Elia sat on the toe of his boot, daintily keeping her paws off the ice.

“We’re sending a brigade out to the North, before the long winter settles in. I’m sure your brother would welcome your son as his own, if you could entrust his safety to my party.” The general spoke in a falsely confident tone, the slight waver at the end of his request betraying his uncertainty at the king’s response. 

There was a moment of painful quiet, enough to bely the outcome of this discussion. After twenty long seconds, the king spoke again.

“My son is fragile, weak. In a harsh snowstorm, I doubt even his mother’s blood would aid his survival. Taking him north now would be most unwise, especially without a full Royal Guard. I will wait until the next summer to reconsider the option. You are dismissed.”

The king’s tone was unyieldingly chill, the general’s armour rattling as he straightened up with the sudden tension. 

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

Alstaer heard them leave as one, the general clanking away as the nobles drifted behind him like ghosts, their faces masks of disappointment. Only once the heavy, carved ice doors had sealed did he step out, revealing his presence. Elia mewled in distaste as her feet hit the cold floor, clawing her way up Alstaer’s body until he placed her on his shoulder.

“I’m not fragile. You should let me go,” he barged in without any polite precursory excuse for eavesdropping, “I’m already fourteen.”

Alstaer’s father was not a physically imposing man. Slender, only a head or so taller than his young son, he wore his human age well. But sat in his icy throne, he looked too much a part of it. A cold fixture in the room.

“You shouldn’t carry vermin around,” he murmured, extending a long finger to point at Elia “Did I not make myself clear?”

“She stays with me,” Alstaer replied, walking up to the stairs before where he sat, “You’re diverting me. Why won’t you let me go with the nobles? More than anyone, I should be safe with them. Luka’s already in the north, and he’s barely fifte- “

“You are incomparable with your cousin,” the king silenced Alstaer in a sudden movement, standing and casting a shadow over where the boy stood, “You are the heir to the throne, by blood. The blood that runs in your body, the body I must protect. You are too weak to venture outside this palace.”

Alstaer felt Elia scramble at his neck, hissing in response to his sudden wave of emotion. 

“I am weak because you refuse to teach me something that could make me anything but,” the young prince muttered, feeling his nails bite into the cradle of his palm. The king did not hesitate to answer swiftly.

“You are weak because you choose to be. If you think your weakness is the fault of anyone but yourself, you only prove me right in my judgement.” 

Alstaer was furious. A perceptible tremble moved over his body as he looked up at his father, furious red eyes on cold crimson. Eyes that pierced Alstaer with their quiet disdain. 

The prince though, did not remain quiet. 

He kicked the stairs, hard, cracking the ice up to his feet as gusts of cold air came gasping out of the fissure. As he did so, Elia jumped off his shoulders and onto the floor behind, fleeing to the back of the room. 

The ice continued to break around Alstaer’s father, shards of it flying up and cutting his cheeks, though he barely moved in response. Only when the entire staircase and stage had shattered did he speak.

“Are you quite finished?”

His voice was so blank, so lacking in emotion or care, that Alstaer couldn’t help himself; plunging his fist into the floor and grabbing a handful of ice to throw at him. As he moved to strike though, he felt the will leave him. Alstaer couldn’t bring myself to truly hurt his father. The ice turned to water in his grasp, trickling down slack fingers.

“Yes. I’m finished.”

There was a beat of silence between them before the floor healed over, as if breaking in reverse. The king settled back into the throne, brushing a single strand of stray white hair from his forehead.

“Good. Then get out.”


	4. The Prince and Kev

“Alstaer! Your highness! Your father has returned, I heard he’s looking for you!”

Kev Ambrose took the stairs up to the atrium of the garden three at a time, pulling himself up with the handrail until the cool outside air greeted him. The east wing’s small garden was a new fixture in the palace, and jutted out on a balcony between turrets, shielded under a large glass dome. Several of the dome’s windows had been thrown open, letting in white sunlight and a crisp breeze, and Kev had to shield his eyes for a moment as he stopped in the entrance. 

“Alstaer?” he called again, looking around the atrium before cautiously approaching the garden’s gate which broke out from the ice in rolls of delicate, wrought silver. 

“Yes?” 

The voice came from within the garden, and Kev tentatively hopped from one foot to the other, unsure if he was really allowed in that forest of the prince’s. It was somewhat intimidating, with its clustered rows of trees and bushes, arrays of colour bursting from every bough, unlike anything Kev had ever seen in the Mesaje before. Like another little world, up in the sky, the height of the turret indeed allowing low hanging clouds to lick the glass. 

Eventually, Kev stole himself and pushed open the gate, venturing in to seek out Alstaer Gaemon. He wasn’t difficult to find, especially in the light, a spot of white illuminated in the centre. He was tending to a smaller shrub, this one just coming into bloom with tiny wisps of orange petals. 

“Kev,” Alstaer turned his head to look at the boy, a faint smile crossing his features, “You were saying something about my father?”

The prince was barely thirteen, but there was no aspect of him that could be deemed childish, from his demeanour to his expression, he seemed almost weary. He was smaller than the rest of the children, and even the skinny Kev had always thought Alstaer looked almost breakable. Glass child, boy of ice, those were some of the kinder nicknames thrown around by the other nobles. Kev did not permit himself to commit the crueller monikers to memory. 

“Y-your highness! You remember my name!” he exclaimed, almost rushing forwards but stopping himself as Alstaer reacted at the proximity, a flicker of something close to fear crossing the prince’s features and forcing Kev to halt. 

“Ah, my apologies,” he gasped, holding his hands up before dropping his head in a bow of apology, keeping a healthy metre of space between them, “Your father has arrived back, His Royal Majesty has requested you join him and Her Majesty the Queen in the Solar, for they have not seen you in many months. I trust, um…” Kev leant a little closer, “I trust Master Ma’lel has left for the winter?” 

“He has,” Alstaer confirmed absentmindedly, apparently not at all bothered by the order from his parents, his attention returning to the blooms in front of him, “He left yesterday, so of course, I knew my father would return soon. But thank you, Kev, for informing me. Hm. Could you help me, for a moment?”

Kev’s eyes turned wide and seemed to sparkle as he clasped his hands, positively delighted to be asked to assist the prince. 

“Yes, ah, your highness, what is it I can do for you? Should I send a message back to your parents? Perhaps fetch you something? Summon a servant of your choosin-”

“Is this colour red, or orange?” Alstaer interrupted Kev’s tirade, stroking his chin as he regarded the small flowers just beginning to peek out of their buds, “I did try for red, but I fear I’m not there yet…”

“Oh.” Kev seemed lost for a moment before clearing his throat and striding forwards to examine the flowers, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to look erudite, “Well, your highness, Alstaer, I believe they are very beautiful, but perhaps they are on the lighter spectrum of red?”

He was lying. The flowers were very clearly a pale orange. Kev did notice then that the garden seemed largely devoid of red. In fact, most of the flora bloomed in shades of purple and blue, interrupted by the occasional light pink or insipid yellow. Alstaer did not seem to have perfected the art of crafting more vibrant, warm colours. 

The prince smiled at Kev’s analysis, turning his gaze on the boy and nodding his head. 

“Thank you, Kev. I will try to do better next time. Please tell a servant to inform my parents I will get ready and greet them within the half hour. Thank you.”

Kev found himself stilled at Alstaer’s smile, having never seen the expression come to full fruition on the other’s features before. It wasn’t dazzling or boisterous as one would expect from such a rare smile, but it seemed to light him up from within, like holding a white gem to the moon. There was life on Alstaer Gaemon’s face, for a moment. 

“I-I’ll go your highness, I’ll tell them,” Kev promised, stumbling back with another bow and turning to leave the garden. 

Alstaer’s silhouette faded from view, and Kev stole one last glance back at the child amongst the flowers before he vanished altogether. It took him only a few moments to find a servant to formally deliver the message to Alstaer’s parents, and Kev was somewhat elated to have completed such a task for the young prince, heading back to the noble quarters with a spring in his step. Upon reaching the courtyard that marked the descent into the nobility’s housing ring, he spotted a cluster of other aristocratic children, standing around an artfully crafted snowman. 

“Friends!” he greeted as he traipsed through the snow towards them, “Mind if I join you?”

The children looked at him with fairly blank expressions, and so Kev cleared his throat rather self-importantly and leant in, “I am sorry I couldn’t join you before, I was with the prince. Important business with his parents, he trusted me to deliver a message. You know, he remembers my name now, you could say we are becoming fairly close.”

“Oh, well done, Kev,” one of the boys laughed, flicking his long, blond ponytail over his shoulder, “Alstaer Gaemon got your name right for once, is it? You feel good about that?”

“You know, he called me Kev last week when I went to remind him we had a Royal State congregation,” one of the girls, Sophia, sniggered behind her hand, “I wonder if he just has a list of our names and uses them in rotation, hoping to get it right once in a while.”

“You-that’s wrong,” Kev said stoutly, crossing his arms, “He knows who I am, he knows who we all are. He’s our prince.”

“Our prince? Our prince wouldn’t run about after some Kalkarnian trader all day, and ignore his own people,” Sophia sniffed, “I even asked him to accompany me to the solstice celebrations, and he ended up going with that man, Master Ma’lel or whatever he’s called. He has no interest in us, or the Mesaje. Only in himself.” 

Kev opened his mouth before shutting it. He couldn’t refute those statements about Karul Ma’lel. The only person he’d ever seen Alstaer genuinely talking to in earnest, laughing animatedly with, was that Kalkarnian mentor of his. And yet, today, he’d felt Alstaer had been happy to see him. That the smile he’d given Kev hadn’t been false. 

“I forgot, I promised my parents I’d be home before the sunset,” Kev mumbled then, turning away from the little group and their snowman, “Continue with whatever you were doing.”

The children burst out into tinkling little laughs again as Kev withdrew, heading through the archway and beginning the walk down into the second tier of the glacier, the rows of noble estates coming into view. Behind him, the palace loomed proud, an icy jewel on the skyline. Containing one small prince within.


	5. The Incident

“You are not going north this instant, Alstaer, why don’t you relax? Celebrate, have a drink.”

Karul was leaning back on the balcony in Alstaer’s bedroom, a goblet in his hand and a grin on his face. His eyes tracked a rather frantic Alstaer who was moving about inside the room, packing and repacking a bag, obviously excited. His father had finally allowed him to join the pilgrimage north for the spring and he was overjoyed, the thought of leaving the ice palace after twenty long years filling him with a liveliness he didn’t usually possess.

“I just, I can’t relax. I feel like if I sit still for too long then they’ll leave without me,” Alstaer explained as he shoved a blanket into his rucksack, carefully sliding one of his journals inside to bring along for the journey, “I know it’s ridiculous, but my father’s just that changeable, you know?”

“You aren’t suggesting that your own father would let you get so excited and then crush your hopes like that, hm? Do you really think he could be so cruel?” Karul hummed, pushing off the balcony railing and walking over to Alstaer, raising a hand to pat him on the head, “I’ve never seen you so happy, little prince.”

Alstaer smiled, ceasing his freneticism and looking up at Karul, meeting his eye. The man’s hand lingered in his hair, dark fingers stark against the white, moving slowly before pulling away as Karul returned Alstaer’s smile.

He looked then as though he was about to speak, before there was a knock at the door and Alstaer turned to answer it. He was always quick to move away whenever he lingered a little too long by Karul, for fear his expression would expose his sentiment for the other. Even as he opened the door, his face was slightly pink, the smile still on his face.

Until he saw what was waiting for him.

One of the royal messengers had arrived, a silver tray in hand with a stiff placard folded in the centre. Alstaer reached out and took it, unfolding the paper to find a short message written in his father’s sharp cursive. 

/Alstaer. I have decided to postpone your journey. The winter has not yet cleared from the north, and you are not ready to face such conditions. This is my final decision. Your mother and I will leave tomorrow as planned./

Rolmy’s seal at the bottom blurred under Alstaer’s vision, the blue and silver of the emblem seeming to melt into one as his eyes began to burn.

“Thank you,” he whispered to the messenger, dropping the card back on the silver tray, “Tell father I will be down to see him shortly. Before he leaves in the morning.”

“Yes, your highness,” the messenger bowed and turned to leave, the door swinging shut in Alstaer’s face.

He was perfectly silent then, resting his hand against the icy frame in an attempt to brace himself from the heavy emotions hitting him in succession. Behind him, Karul moved closer, casting a shadow over Alstaer as he stood at his back.

“Are you crying?” he asked quietly, to which Alstaer turned around furiously, looking up at Karul with bright, red eyes.

“I am not. I would not cry because of this. Crying is only an admission of weakness. I would not give him the satisfaction,” he declared, though far from backing away at the angry display, Karul’s smile slowly grew, his eyes narrowing as he reached out to place a hand on Alstaer’s shoulder.

“I understand. Your father has hurt you. But you are not weak for being angry. Far from it, that anger is powerful, look,” Karul murmured, his gaze moving over Alstaer’s shoulder, where the door had melted somewhat where the prince’s hand had touched it, “You should show your father how strong you are. Make him see you, make him fear you. You are more powerful than he realises, Alstaer Gaemon.”

Karul’s words brought the anger to a brim in Alstaer’s chest, stoking the fire that his father’s message had sparked. Karul was right. Rolmy thought Alstaer was weak, unable to protect himself or survive outside the palace that had arrested him for over twenty years. Karul had shown Alstaer that he was capable of so much more than that, that his powers exceeded what his father expected of him.

He moved his hand on top of Karul’s, holding the man’s wrist for a brief moment before he nodded and turned, pushing open the door and storming out. As the door swung shut again, Karul’s smile did not fade, his eyes watching the prince descend the antechamber and begin his walk down to the throne room.

Alstaer almost slipped down the stairs as he went, his whole frame shaking by now with an anger he’d never felt before. He felt betrayed, pushed aside, treated more poorly than even the lowliest servant. Would he be here forever? Would his father ever let him leave this place? Or would he be relegated to his tower, year after year, like some fragile ornament in a glass case? He didn’t want that. He wanted to leave, to finally show his father he wasn’t the weak, frail child Rolmy thought he was.

At this hour of the night, the courtiers and dignitaries had cleared from the throne room, and Rolmy was seated atop the dais, his expression tired and worn. Alstaer gave him no moment for reprieve however as he entered the hall, striding towards his father. Rolmy paused as he took in his son’s expression and stance, shutting his eyes as if preparing himself. They’d had similar arguments before. But Alstaer wasn’t about to let this one end like all the others.

“Let me go,” he ordered, stopping in front of Rolmy, his fists tight knots of white knuckle, “I won’t stay here another year. I’m not weak. You think I can’t survive even the beginning of spring? Just how pathetic do you think I am?”

Rolmy was silent for a moment before he sighed, straightening up to better look at his son, his eyes unreadable.

After a moment, he said, “You will not go. I cannot assure your safety if you leave with us. The winter, even the vestiges, would certainly kill you.”

“You are wrong,” Alstaer argued, coming even closer to the throne, standing on the first step of the dais, “The cold will not kill me. The exposure will not kill me. The Mesaje will not kill me, father. I draw my power from it. I have never felt threatened by the wild nature here. Not by any storm, nor snow, nor animal that roams the borders. I belong out there, not in here. Let me go, and I can show you.”

“Enough,” Rolmy snapped, raising his hand to stop Alstaer’s advance, “I do not take orders from you, Alstaer. I have surveyed the reports from the north, and discussed with my generals. I cannot bring a child with us. You will not sway me, just because you are friendly with vermin and can toss around snowflakes-”

“You don’t know what I can do! You assume that I only learn what you permit me to be taught, but you are mistaken. I am not a child you can control, nor is my magical ability. I can do much more than you know, father, and there is so much more that I could learn, out there. Keeping me in here, you are as good as throwing me in a prison, with no light, no food and no water. I will not grow here. And yet you keep me, when I should’ve been out there since I was a child, learning from you and mother, from our people, from the Mesaje itself-”

“Be quiet, Alstaer!” Rolmy stood up abruptly, towering over his son and looking down in anger, “You are insolent, as well as weak now, I see. I will not take you on this journey. And if I choose to never take you, so be it. You will stay here, for as long as I deem it necessary. From the way you present yourself to me now, I would not be surprised if that is forever.”

Forever. Alstaer faltered on the dais and slipped a little, stepping back onto the flat floor behind him. He would remain here, for as long as Rolmy wanted. He had no choice in the matter. He would be kept here, alone, all on his father’s whim.

“You can’t do that…” he whispered after a moment, staring into the empty space in front of him, Rolmy having stepped back to his throne, “You can’t…”

Rolmy paused and lowered his gaze back to his son, the frown by now so deep on his face it looked like glacial cracks on the icy complexion.

“I can. Now leave, Alstaer. I have had enough of this.”

As Rolmy moved away from him then, Alstaer jerked his head up, his eyes filled with an emotion they had never expressed before. It was somehow empty, without soul, but filled with a fury that could not be quelled. Pure, unadulterated hatred.

He raised his hands on either side of his body and from his fingertips, lines of red and purple began to pulse, though within moments they turned blue, bursting from Alstaer in volts of wild electricity. They spiraled around him before beginning to dance like flickering ghosts, growing, seething, until they were released. It took Rolmy a second to realise what was happening, but by the time his eyes widened and he reached out to his son, it was too late.

The fire exploded from Alstaer in all directions, filling up the room and licking the ice, causing chunks of it to melt and fall, cracking the floor beneath. The flames were blue, so hot they turned the palace structure around them to water in moments, the liquid evaporating as the inferno continued to rage.

Rolmy raised his arm to shield his face from the bright light, the intense heat turning his skin red and causing blisters to swell on his palms and cheeks.

“Alstaer!” he yelled into the flames, trying to see any sign of his son, but the boy was indistinguishable from the wall of fire.

 

The throne room was gone within a minute, melted and broken apart until it looked like old ruins, open to the night sky above. When Rolmy could finally stand, left in the jagged remains of the dais, Alstaer had vanished.


End file.
